The Anonymous | S.H. • O.C.

- 4 -

"Hi, here's the mortuary report."

Molly stands at the apartment's door near the living room. She hands a small stack of papers to Ann.

"Hey, Molly" John greets with a smile, Sherlock sitting at the table behind him.

"Hi, John. Hey, Sherlock" she waves shyly to Sherlock, stuttering slightly at his name. He only looks up for a short second and meets her eyes before returning to the work in front of him.

"So, the weapon was a small knife, like the one on the cutting board in the kitchen. Thought so. Mind if I hold onto these for a bit?" Ann reads then asks, closing the packet. Molly gives her the okay to.

Ann tosses the stack onto the table Sherlock is sat at, causing a few of his papers to flutter their edges.

"Do you guys have any ideas for suspects yet?" Molly questions, still standing awkwardly in the doorframe.

"I don't. What about you, Sherlock?" Ann turns her body to face said man.

He glares up at her before standing up and walking to approach her.

"I have an idea of one person who it could possibly be."

"Oh? And who might that be?" She fixes her posture a bit and tilts her head up to meet his eyes with a smirk. He leans down to meet her ear and whispers something inaudible.

Once done with the exchange, they both return to normal positions and keep eye-contact.

Confused tension floods the room. Molly has a confused, and quite frankly, scared look to her face.

John clears his throat and pitches the idea that it's probably time for Molly to go back home since she's a "busy girl". She agrees and stumbles out of the apartment. The door closes once she leaves.

"What was that about?" John asks Ann and Sherlock sternly.

"Oh, come on, John. Did you really think for one second that Ann wasn't the murderer; the one who caused the bloody mess in the man we now know as-" he looks at the report behind him to search for the victim's name.

"-Michael Birch's residence? She knows so much, yet so little." He takes another step closer to Ann.

"So, Ann, if you thought you fooled me, then you thought wrong because you can't fool me."

With the tilt of a head and a movement of a hand to touch his upper-arm, caressing it ever so softly. Speaking just as soft as her touch, Ann looks up to his eyes from his arms and leans up to his ear to say the words, "but I already have."

The feeling the words left lingers in the air even after she took a step back to continue speaking in her sensual tone.

"I'm so sorry to tell you that though I do love making people into messes, I am not the killer."

"If you're not the killer, then why were you seen minutes before the killing happened?"

"How do you know that? Where's your evidence?"

"Well, since you just admitted to it, there's the second piece but the first is the fact that not only were you at the scene before cops were, but there are also accounts of a call from a number that matches yours to Birch." He waves the victim's phone in the air from the table next to him.

"That being said, why were you there if you supposedly don't know the victim's wife, whom it would probably be you were on your way to see, unless-" a smirk appears through his talking mouth "-you were sleeping with her husband?"